


an object in motion

by breakeven



Series: little things. [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Best Friends, Bucky Barnes Feels, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Flashbacks, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Possibly Pre-Slash, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Speakeasies, Unrequited Love, barely, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:10:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6915895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakeven/pseuds/breakeven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s just looking out for Steve. It’s the only thing he really knows how to do. It’s only right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an object in motion

**Author's Note:**

> this is a very quick little thingy about bucky being willing to burn the earth down for steven rogers lmao enjoy. i wrote this in like an hour and it's unbeta'd like most of my work so all mistakes belong to moi.

James met Steve when he was 7 years old and the kid was running away from a pack of 6th graders as fast as his little legs would carry him. Flying like a bat out of hell, a little flash of blonde hair and flailing arms tried to dash past Bucky, who was kicking a can on his way, and ran smack into him. They’d both tumbled to the ground in an epic clash of too skinny limbs and dirtied school trousers and when the blonde flash had collected itself enough to stand Bucky had noticed his lip was split and he had a bruise high on his cheek that was well on its way to being a nasty black color. 

 

He winced in sympathy, “You oughtta watch yourself,” he said earnestly, taking in the damage with wide eyes. On top of all the injuries, the boy was small, smaller than James himself who’d always been thin, and he was huffing and puffing like a steam engine on its last leg. James was very worried, he’s sure anybody would of been. 

 

“How ‘bout  _ you _ watch it!” the kid sneered, and sprinted off, just as the 6th graders emerged from the alleyway, fists waving in the air something mad. 

 

James had watched, in 7 year old confusion, as all those boys chased after that one with the kind of anger that could only be fueled by stupidity. What kind of stupid, James didn’t know, but he figured the little blonde one had to be a real special kind to pit himself up against this pack of meatheads and it was only right to look out for him.

 

“Hey!” he shouted fiercely at them, “Hey, you leave him alone!”

 

And it had been worth it, really, when James and “Steven G. Rogers- but you can call me  _ Steve _ ,” had gotten the snot pounded out of them because James found that he didn’t mind what the world did to him if he was looking out for Steve. It was only right.

 

***   
  


He’s 16 years old and Bucky’s watching the corner for Pat Young, who said he’d give him a couple of dollars on the side if he made sure the cops didn’t come within a 10 foot radius of the speakeasy doors. The shop he’s operating out of closes at 5 in the evening, and by 7 its basement is all lit up with talent and skin, and the United States government just can’t have that, so people’ve gotta make due with what they can. And if that means all the sorry drunks on the block have to carry themselves on down to pay too much a pop for a few glasses of whisky, then so be it. Bucky don’t mind breaking the law when it’s a stupid one, and hell, he sure could use the money. Young’s just about rolling in with all the extra cash flow he’s got going, and it really just makes sense for him to be giving back to the community, what with the way they protect his secret and all. 

 

“You’re gonna land your stupid ass in jail,” Steve warns him all the time. He’s bigger than he was at 7, but that’s not really saying much, because he’s still got the painfully hunched shoulders, spine curled in like a question mark, he’s still got the same red,  _ red _ lips like the feathers on the dancing girls’ heads, and his wrists are still small enough for the bones there to protrude like little handles for Bucky’s fingers. Usually Bucky isn’t listening when Steve starts preaching shit like that, because usually Steve starts preaching shit like that when Bucky’s handing him a few dollars for medicine or new art supplies, and Bucky doesn’t wanna hear it. He’s just looking out for Steve. It’s the only thing he really knows how to do. It’s only right. 

 

***

He watches Steve’s back literally now. He sits at high vantage points and he trains the scope of a heavy gun, a rifle too high tech and too stone cold to be the one his pop taught him to shoot with, and he watches Steve’s six. He watches these bullets fly, these nasty little shards of metal spinning and spinning at the speed of life, and he watches them puncture lungs, tear through necks, snap spines in half, and he thinks to himself that this must be worth it, because he’s looking out for Steve. And he’s been doing this so long, he’s been pulling every mental trigger there was for so long to look out for Steve that the only reason this feels any different is because now there are other people watching him do it. There are men who admire him, and follow him, and they see all the low down, dirty shit he does to keep his Steve safe, to protect the life of this man who’s practically made his, and he just knows they’re judging. The eyes of God have never meant as much to him as they have to the rest of his family, he’s a sinner and there ain’t a damn thing he can do about it at this point; the poison’s so thick in his blood. But the eyes of these men is something else. These men shoot when it’s them or the other guy, when they’ve gotta make the choice to protect themself and their country. Bucky shoots when it’s Steve. Period. There’s no other option. He’s Steve’s like his guts are, undeniably, infallibly, and he’s just doing his job. He’s trying to bring his best friend home, he’s protecting his family. He’s doing what’s right, he tells himself. 

 

***

In 2014 he sees this man with blonde hair who moves as fast as he does, whose eyes water in recognition, in agony, when the Soldier’s face is revealed. 

 

He saves this man. The mission is failed, he’s failed, he’ll most likely be decommissioned, but he has to save this man before that happens. For some reason he  _ feels _ this in his bones, like the command of a Head, except deeper, except more significant. The Soldier thinks this is right. 

 

***

In 2016, Howard Stark’s son tries to kill him, and he gets it, really he does. He understands the depths of the pain he’s caused, he knows how many lives he’s ruined, he’s spent endless nightmarish hours copsing through file after file and watching video after video about himself and the things this body of his has done, and he  _ knows _ , he gets it. Sometimes at night he sees it, sees them, hears them too, and when he wakes in the morning, vomiting and screaming he thinks that he deserves this. This is the existence he’s earned. He’s accepted as much. 

 

When he’s brought back again, taken out of the ice for the very last time, Steve is there. He’s there and he looks so much older, so much harder, so righteous, as if he’s descended in order to right Bucky’s wrongs, as if they’re his own. His lips are pressed into a tight, thin line, and his jaw is clenched so tight Bucky’s sure his teeth are gonna crack under the strain. 

 

“I don’t know if I can deserve all this,” he tells Steve when they’re back in Brooklyn. This apartment ain’t nothing like the flop they stayed in before the war, and it ain’t nothing like the digs he’s sure Steve could afford, what with him being a living history lesson and the like, but it’s nice. The living room gets great natural lighting, like a sepia toned spotlight glistens every evening right onto the pages of Steve’s notebook, and the food’s always warm and hearty. Steve cooks like his mama did, like Mrs. Mathers on the third floor did, and Bucky nearly cries every night at dinner for the first few weeks of them staying together because he’s suddenly struck with the sensations of sitting for supper in the Barnes’ household for all those years of his life before the war. 

 

“Bucky you deserve help. You deserve  _ my  _ help, no matter what Tony says, no matter what you think, no matter what you’ve heard. You’ve  _ earned _ this. You fought for this, and you’re better now, and you’re gonna keep getting better goddamnit. It’s only right,” Steve rants, scrubbing angrily at a pot that he’s definitely just bent out of shape. Bucky is still sitting at the kitchen table, picking at a thin thread in the cloth. His mama’d have his head if she could see him now. His mama wouldn’t wanna come near him though, really, if she could see him now. She always had a way of knowing when he’d done wrong. 

 

“Whatcha gonna do now Steve? Gonna pray for me until God opens those pearly gates when I finally kick the motherfucking bucket then?” he taunts, not serious at all, but his voice is hollow. 

 

Steve stops scrubbing, “I’ll drag your ass right up with me and pry the fuckers open if I have to, Buck. I’m gonna look out for  _ you _ now, and that’s final. I’m gonna do what’s right,” Steve says gravely, not turning to look at Bucky but. 

 

Bucky knows what this is, knows what those words mean when said like that, and he knows, suddenly, viscerally, that Steve Rogers has loved him just as viciously as he has loved Steve. It’s heady and it hurts the cold, thumping thing in his chest something fierce, but he takes it and holds on to it because all of that watching, all of that looking, this lifetime of trying, finally has the potential to mean something. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! yay. comments and kudos are welcome. I'm @nataliabarncs on twitter. also all of my quick little thingies about the mcu will belong to this series, though it will be updated sparingly ha.


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